The Wannabe Romancer and the Reluctantly Romanced
by FallonSong
Summary: So Tony has a crush, a fact that Bruce is highly aware of, and Steve is just that new kid from Brooklyn who has no idea what is going on. Stony with mentions of past TonyxBruce. High School AU.


For as long as he could remember, there was nothing that Tony Stark wanted that he couldn't have or build. At the age of ten, he began all but building his own toys and perfecting cars with his dad, and he basically learned to drive the moment he could touch the pedals with his leg stretching to its absolute limit. The driving could be a symbol for something else as well: him and Steve. As the time wore on and he adjusted, as well as GREW, it was easier to go. He stopped stressing over the details beneath his exuberant exterior and simply went. It became effortless, and to the point where he could simply coast and enjoy the scenery, which became the highlight of his life.

But of course, this story doesn't pick up when everything is easy, because that doesn't show any depth to anything. When Steve and Tony laughed at certain things for no reason, you might be confused. You wouldn't ever know why they laughed, or why they smiled, and you wouldn't know them. You wouldn't know that Tony never crashed until he met Steve, and that Steve never smiled so much until Tony happened. Life would really be something if what you saw was what you got with Tony; a perfectly content man who never, ever had to stretch for the pedals. Unfortunately, he always seemed to be stretching, working day-in and day-out for happiness that eluded him, right until it ran straight toward him, in the form of Steve Rogers.

This particular story meets Tony halfway, when he wasn't so much as eye-level with the middle of the steering wheel as he was with the top, where he wasn't quite relaxed, but the muscles in his legs were not shaking with strain. Metaphorically, of course. He still had much to figure out, and much more growing to do.

Tony Stark spent his senior year bored as hell, to be blunt. His father always insisted that he didn't need to go to school, but it drew him in, curiously enough, and he wanted to learn something he didn't know, for example, the mechanics of people. He knew which parts caused which to work in machinery, but with each and every single human being there was something different provoked from the same words. So even though he could graduate at any time he wanted, because damn, he was smart, he stayed in class, fascinated by people and eager to attend their parties, but at the same time just as eager to throw his own and show them up.

He never admitted, of course, that he wanted to go to high school, because deep down, he kind of wondered what he was missing and just what made those people with IQs lower than his was at the age of seven so friggin happy. They were utterly content with ignorance and he just wanted to know why.

To his dad, he said, "Maybe I can teach the teachers something. And it always pays to have connections with the future nerds of America."

But that was all.

Only halfway through his senior year, when he found a rhythm and he had slowly started to understand the inner workings of people did Steve Rogers literally come crashing into his life and ruining absolutely everything.

They had just gotten out for the Christmas holidays and the last thing he needed was an arrogant yahoo leaving a dent in his car. He stood in the parking lot in a tank top and gym shorts, because who cared how cold it was? He flung his books flung in the back seat in anger, and just stared.

There it was: discreet, a smidgen of a scratch at the most, completely grinding his nerves and cueing the grinding of his teeth as well. He knew that some jealous jerk must have done it, and it would barely cost him pocket change to fix. Just the fact that someone disliked him enough to do it and drive off really upset him and he couldn't place why.

"Hey!"

Closing his eyes, he hoped maybe the voice would go away. To be honest, he wasn't quite in the mood to stoop to his first grade vocabulary words just to communicate with his peers.

"Hey, Mr. Stark? May I have a word with you?"

And Tony stood there thinking 'Oh God, this one knew the meaning of the word persistence. That must be a third grade word!'

Everyone in school knew that when Tony didn't want to talk, you really didn't want to cross him. He spun on his heels, chest puffed up and the ultimate Stark glare endowing his face, utterly prepared to send this guy skidding to a stop like a deer in headlights, but this time, the roles were reversed.

Yes, this was the first time he saw Steve Rogers. And with a faint flutter of his heart (which he really forgot he had most of the time), he hoped it wouldn't be the last. Dispelling the unnatural thought, he took the guy in.

Tall, finely muscled, blond hair that was neatly combed like a nerd's, and an openly honest face, which also meant he could be nothing short of naïve. He skidded to a stop directly beside Tony, huffing a little, but smiling almost sheepishly.

"I'm so sorry about your car. It was my fault entirely. What would you like me to do about it? We can exchange insurance or I can just give you the cash to fix it. Whatever you prefer."

After a brief lull in which Tony just gaped at him for various reasons, the boy continued a bit nervously.

"I apologize again. I had a rough morning."

Shaking himself, Tony cleared his throat and shrugged, doing his best to appear like it didn't matter that his baby had a scratch the size of New Zealand on her side (which was just a slight exaggeration at best), or that if any other jerk at this school had scratched his car, he would strangle them.

"I can pay for it. No problem."

The words tumbling from his own mouth stunned him, but even worse, they kept coming.

"It was an accident, after all. And you don't much look like you could pay for it. Sorry kid. It's the truth."

The 'kid' glared briefly, but he relaxed just as quickly and extended a hand, raising an eyebrow when Tony refused to take his hand.

"I'm Steve Rogers. New, in case you didn't know."

"And of course you've heard of me already. Can't say I'm surprised. Well if you'll excuse me, I have a car to take care of…"

He inched away, avoiding Steve's eyes for some reason and swinging himself into the driver's seat of his convertible.

"I'm really sorry!" Steve said again. "The way everyone talked about you, I thought you would have my head on a platter. Glad to know you aren't the jerk they all said you were."

He spun and walked away quickly, to a crappy car that was all but made of rust, and Tony wondered briefly why he hadn't been a jerk. He had caught him off guard by being polite. Because, honestly, who did that anymore? What kind of guy that had a car like THAT even attempted to pay to fix one like Tony's?

He must have been a fool, but in all honesty, Tony wondered what that made him when he not only kept his temper under control, but he hadn't even demanded for Steve to pay. He hadn't even thrown a fit. Driving home and replaying the brief conversation in his head, he realized he had been exceptionally kind by not being exceptionally rude. For once, the person who confused him the most was himself. He had slowly started figuring out how people worked, and he had always known himself. But now, he didn't, and here came some solitary nerd with perfectly combed geek hair that he desperately needed to figure out.

When he arrived home, he found Bruce sitting on his couch, alternating channels with little interest. Bruce was a very good friend to him, if he admitted to having such things, and he always stayed over, invited or not. He had graduated two years ago, but they remained close, a fact that Tony could grudgingly admit to being thankful for because no other intelligent conversation tended to come his way. Though, if he was being honest, he could say that Bruce was his best friend, and had been since they were in diapers.

"You didn't knock," Bruce said pleasantly, and Tony laughed because Bruce had always been so dark and serious that his slight and weak jabs at humor were funnier than they should be. Yes, Tony knew how Bruce worked better than anyone, and Bruce knew him just as well.

"Sorry, I'll remember to give a damn later," Tony managed to say haughtily, for he was still amused, and he snatched his laptop off the table. He flopped onto the couch beside his friend, who narrowed his eyes upon inspection of his friend.

"Well, well, well, Stark. Who got to you?"

With a snort, Tony opened his laptop with a flourish and replied, "Absolutely no one. No one can possibly reach me when I'm so far above them. Not a soul."

Bruce studied his friend, but left him alone for the most part and returned to Grey's Anatomy, deciding that he would talk when he talked, and that was that. Tony had become unnerved by the man's curiosity, and he angled the laptop away from his sight while he pulled up Facebook. It was one thing for Tony to know people, but when he discovered that Bruce knew him just as well, he felt uneasy, confused. People weren't supposed to _get_ him, just appreciate him and respect him because hell, he was Tony Stark.

He searched Steve Rogers, almost guiltily, and found himself pleased that he found him right away. He was smiling in this picture, not apologetically as Tony had seen him, but with pure delight. He had his arms wrapped around a German Shepard, and there were people in the background.

Perhaps it was just his curiosity, or his insufferable need to just know everything, but he wondered where Steve Rogers, and those people, were. He wondered what his dogs name was, and above all he wondered what the hell was wrong with him for stalking a guy's Facebook page.

"Tony," Bruce sighed in exasperation. "What are you doing? Just spit it out."

"I," Tony said grandly, "Am adding a friend on Facebook. Why can't I do a commoner's activity for once?"

Tony slammed the laptop shut, and, tossing it aside, retreated to the kitchen.

"Because," Bruce called after him, amused. "Not once, out of your four thousand friends, have you ever been the one to send a friend request!"

Bruce didn't need to see him to know that his friend was rolling his eyes, and he laughed, because who the hell knew why Tony did what he did in the first place? You could only figure him out halfway, and by that time he was off doing something else. Bruce only knew his reactions, however subtle, and he knew something very odd was afoot.

"I got you a pop-tart, even though you're a prick," he said, returning from the kitchen after a minute, deeming himself safe from interrogation.

"Thanks, Stark."

They let it drop, but Tony regularly checked his phone, waiting for that text that announced that someone had accepted his friend request, a text he had never gotten before, but he really wanted right then, and Bruce ate his pop tart.

"Quit staring at your phone like you want to have sex with it. It's starting to gross me out."

Bruce said after a while, breaking his second pop-tart in half and took a dainty bite.

"And frankly, I still want to know what's gotten into you, if you are ever in the mood to share."

Tony didn't answer, frowning and setting his phone down only to pick it right back up excitedly when it vibrated.

"Seriously, what has gotten into you?"

His friend did not reply, instead he only pressed several buttons in his haste to open the message, and in return his phone spazzed out, pulling up his calendar and contacts.

Tony didn't answer Bruce because he wasn't even sure what had gotten a hold of him. He was curious, fascinated, and enticed by the blond man who exhibited something that he couldn't quite place. Something that, in all of his years of going to high school and working alongside his father, he had never seen before, except for within Bruce: honesty. So what made Steve's honesty different from Bruce's? Questions, questions. And God knew Tony couldn't stand to have questions presented in front of him without jumping to answer them.

"I have a new friend," he replied, pleased, because now he could sufficiently stalk this man's profile.

Steve Roger's pictures were few, but they all gave off a professional appeal, or maybe it was because Steve was so damn photogenic. He smile hung the same ways in each and every one, but perhaps became a bit brighter in the one where he stood beside a petite girl with dark hair, she in a cheerleading uniform and he in football gear.

He was a senior, as well. He had been captain of the football team at that particular school, and he worked at an old school diner only a few blocks away. In the status announcing his receiving of the job a week ago, he thanked his friend for the recommendation. It had been a week ago, enough time for him to start.

"Hey, Bruce. Let's go out for dinner tonight!"

His friend peered at him with a stern, fatherly look.

"And who will be joining us for this clearly just-planned-this-second outing?"

"No one," Tony replied semi-honestly, then upon seeing his friend's steady gaze, added, "Well, not exactly."

With a rolling of his eyes, Bruce hauled himself up and retreated to the guest bedroom that could technically be called his own since he slept in it more than his own room at his house.

"Just let me get ready. I feel like I'm taking an eager puppy for a walk."

"Ruff," Tony called over the couch. He found himself in a cheerful mood, but he refused to give Steve credit for it, because that would mean a lot of odd things, but deep down, he found himself very excited to see him again, maybe talk more with him.

He didn't believe in love at first sight, not even as a kid, but a small part of his mind kept taunting him, telling him that he might have found himself in such a situation.

* * *

That night, as Tony peered around the diner, waiting to be served, Bruce watched him more intently than ever.

"Tony, what are we doing here? And don't be cute and say we are eating dinner. Tell me what's going on."

"Oh, you know…"

Tony didn't finish his sentence, instead feeling that odd flutter in his heart (which Tony still couldn't believe he actually had). It wasn't natural, but there Steve was, caught in a laugh as he emerged from the kitchen with a platter of food.

Bruce followed his friend's steady gaze and blinked spastically in surprise.

"Tony, what the hell? We're here for him?"

Ignoring him, Tony waved his hand in the air, just as Steve finished placing an elderly couple's food on the table.

"Waiter! Could we get a waiter?"

Steve's head jerked up, a bit surprised when he identified Tony, but he shuffled over, that smile returning to his face.

"Hey, Stark. What would you two like to drink?"

Bruce, whose face was glowing with amusement, curiosity, and what almost seemed like joy, looked Steve up and down, returning the smile as he said, "Water, please. Tony, what would you like?"

Tony jerked his gaze away from the pair of them, focusing resolutely on the menu.

"Um. Pepsi. Yeah, Pepsi."

Bruce laughed, but upon meeting Tony's glare turned it quickly into a cough. Anyone else would hear nothing out of the normal in Stark's tone, but God did Bruce hear it. That shy, sappy tone that wasn't heard often. Not at all. Steve looked back and forth between them, but merely shrugged and turned back to the kitchen.

"Oh, man. You got it bad for a _guy_?"

"I do not!" Tony snapped, too quickly, he realized. He folded his arm childishly, turning his head away.

"Do too," Bruce sang, surprising Tony. He had never heard his friend say anything in a sing-song voice before. The odd occurrence provoked him to snap out of his tantrum and turn back.

"You sure seem pleased. Did you pay him off to wreck my car?"

"Wreck your car?" Bruce echoed, eyes wide. "You were in a wreck?"

"An epic one," Tony replied seriously. "My car flipped down the entire length of a road before crashing into a kitten and puppy delivery van, and then my car sailed off a cliff; I only jut managed to jump out in slow motion before it burst into flames."

"I'm gonna call bullshit on that one," Bruce said, relaxing visible.

They quickly fell silent as Steve returned with their drinks, placing them down and hovering beside the table for a moment.

"I'll give you another moment to look over the menu. Wave me over when you've made up your mind."

He lingered for just one more second, eyes flitting to Tony, and then he was gone.

"Well of course I'm pleased," Bruce continued as if there were no silly 'wreck' interruption in their conversation. "It's about time you actually liked somebody. Even if it's a guy. Which, I gotta admit, is kind of weird. But I always suspected."

"Oh, did you, now?" Tony said, almost defensively.

"Tony, you honestly don't remember that one time…?"

Silence fell between them, because no, Tony did not remember and the fact that he didn't made him really uneasy.

"My God," Bruce mused, bringing his glass of water to his lips and taking a swift drink. "You really were that drunk?"

"Apparently," Tony replied shortly. He sat there on pins and needles, waiting for some horrible secret to be unveiled. He tended to be stupid when he got drunk, but for Bruce to have not reminded him of a particular stunt over and over frightened him. He guessed then that it might be bad, but when the bomb was dropped, he was not even slightly prepared for the impact.

"You tried to kiss me, remember?"

"I did not," Tony protested without even trying to remember if he did or not. Secretly, the fact shocked him, scared him a little (or a lot), but he refused to let it show. "That can't have happened. I don't TRY to kiss people; I ravage their mouths and they like it."

Eyebrows raised, Bruce took another drink of his water before waving Steve back over. Tony had not even considered what he wanted, but now that the waiter was on his way, he decided on the first item listed.

"The chicken salad for me please," Bruce was saying, pleased that such a measly place would have something like that.

"Hamburger and fries," Tony mumbled, keeping his gaze locked stubbornly on Bruce's face. He could feel Steve watching him, but he said nothing as Steve scribbled their orders on a pad of paper and bustled away.

"So, why don't you go 'ravage' that guy's mouth? Scared to ruin your reputation?"

Tony crossed his arms and glared, but took the questions into consideration before answering.

"Because that might be a bit inappropriate in a diner. And I am already attending a lowly high school. What reputation?"

Bruce shook his head, smiling fondly.

"You could have gone anywhere you wanted. Anywhere. Could have graduated anytime from anywhere you wanted. Why this school, and why keep pace with 'commoners'?"

He made air quotes.

Tony, now that he had had been told about that night he had tried to kiss Bruce, felt a bit odd, out of place. But the question that his father had asked a thousand times over finally made sense entirely. Maybe he had cared a bit too much for Bruce all along. And maybe all the one night stands with girls who wanted more, meaning a relationship, finally made him realize why he just couldn't do such a thing.

He couldn't tell Bruce that, and hell, he wasn't going to announce himself as openly gay, because as meaningless as girls were to him, he definitely liked the way they looked. And smelled. And their long hair. And soft skin. But none of them could smile like Steve, and that was a damn shame.

He was grateful for Bruce, and he was grateful for the shitty high school that had presented him with his first (or second) serious crush.

To Bruce, he said, quite simply,

"Wanted to stick with the only friend I had. I can make up with my poor high school choice with any college I want. But I just wanted to act normal for a dozen years or so."

Scanning the diner, Bruce leaned in and scoffed, "You've never been normal and you know it."

Leaning in as well, Tony said quietly, "Why are we whispering?"

"Because if waiter boy knows that you have a brain, he might be interested."

Falling back against the booth, Tony asked, "That's gross. Being gay is gross." But after a pause, he added, "Do you think he likes brainy guys?"

Shrugging, Bruce replied, "Maybe. Don't think he would enjoy arrogant jerks though."

He laughed as Tony's mouth dropped open, ready with some vicious retort, no doubt. But Steve came back, and, according to Bruce, he may not like jerks.

Tony shut his mouth, with great effort.

"Enjoy," Steve said pleasantly, this time not even sparing a moment's glance at Tony; maybe he had given up hope of catching his eye.

"So you like him," Bruce said after he left. "Why don't you just tell him? I know dating dudes isn't your thing, but you could at least give him a shot. I've never seen you watch someone like that."

"Eat your salad."

After barking the order, Tony dug into his own food, all but forgetting basic table manners. With the lack of conversation, Bruce reluctantly did as he was told.

Steve brought them their bill, but didn't stay to spare either of them a glance as a group of kids came bustling in. Tony hated them all, right then. But whatever. He had made up his mind on what he wanted to do, and Bruce could tell.

"Tony, please don't do anything rash, like buy the diner and make him be your personal cook."

"Kinky," Tony muttered, but had nothing more to offer as he saw his window of opportunity; Steve ducking back into the kitchen to prepare his snobby classmates' orders.

He shot out of his seat, following him and leaving Bruce to sigh and pay for their food. He decided it best to just wait in the car while Tony did whatever it was he intended to do.

The worker manning the cash register didn't even notice him as he slunk into the kitchen, where Steve was slapping together a hamburger. Two more workers hung in the back, deep in conversation while they prepared other orders.

Looking up, Steve gave a start of surprise. He set down the slice of cheese he was holding and tilted his head.

"Tony? You aren't allowed back here. If you want to talk about your car, just give me-"

He broke off in confusion as Tony strolled forward and grabbed him by the front of his dorky red apron. He really looked like he belonged in this old fashioned diner, with his weird hair and his _manners_. He was an anachronism entirely, and Tony knew that from one day of butchered conversation. But Tony felt a jolt of interest in him. He had to try just one thing, and then maybe he could sleep tonight and not lay awake wondering if all the components of himself were abruptly working in reverse, all upon the sight of Steve.

"A minute?" Tony finished for him. "I suppose I could do that. But I tend to be impatient."

With a fistful of that red apron, Tony dragged Steve closer and grasped the back of his neck with his free hand. Steve's skin flushed hot, and the faintest beginning of a protest formed on his lips before Tony's own consumed them, moving against them and completely altering anything Steve had meant to say into a soft sigh of delight.

Tony drew away, released his grip on Steve and tried to hide the fact that he was swaying on the spot. Time after time, the girls he had kissed were overwhelmed by his technique, but he had never been affected by their responses in a way that went above his hips. That sigh from Steve sent his heart pounding behind his ribs, shaking his bones and forming a solid lump in his throat that he didn't think he could talk around. But he was Tony Stark, and he wasn't supposed to be overwhelmed by this stuff. He did the overwhelming, and that was that.

"See you," he managed to say with a decent amount of normalcy.

Steve's mouth opened and closed a few times before he leaned back a little, grabbing the counter for support. Briefly wondering what Steve would say, Tony hesitated, but forced himself away, heading out through the kitchen.

"Hey! You aren't supposed to be back there!"

The freckled girl at the cash register narrowed her eyes at him sharply, but he ignored her and stepped through the front door, the little bell jingling after him almost teasingly.

"It's not healthy to have a quickie in a restaurant kitchen," Bruce greeted. He was propped against the car, the same one that Steve had left a scratch on, and looked like a scolding father whose sons were always fucking other guys in kitchens, dammit all, like they would just never learn to do it elsewhere.

"I did not have a quickie. Now get in the car and let's go home."

Bruce's shoulders shook with repressed laughter, but he obliged, sliding into the passenger seat. He couldn't help but to notice that Tony was smiling. Of course, he smiled all the time. There was a series of smiles, actually: much like the Cheshire cat who had just made a new deal smile, the one he gave his father as he talked about school work, the one he gave the press, the charming one he presented at parties. But this was none of the above. His face adorned a smile that Bruce had seen three times before this. Two of those times were during moments that the two of them shared, one of the times being when Tony kissed him in a drunken haze.

This smile possessed an almost alarmingly soft quality. It was exceedingly gentle and thoughtful, curious and not entirely satisfied, but undeniably happy.

No. Happy is not the right word. The smile simply caused his face to radiate with all the qualities Tony did not normally carry on his sleeve.

"You're in trouble," he remarked to his friend.

Tony, however, did not answer. Instead, he watched the road with eyes glazed over. Normally, Bruce would fear for his life, but he actually feared a lot more for Tony's right then.

* * *

"Tony!"

Bruce peered down the stairs the next night, rather alarmed by the sounds of mass destruction emitting from his friend's workshop. The noise from that place tended to be, on a scale of the sound of world peace to the sound of world domination, around the 'level the rainforest and boil the endangered animals' area, but now Bruce personally wondered if he should start kissing ass when Tony had secured reign over the world.

"Tony?" he called again, tentatively.

After a brief pause, most of the sounds halted and a light tapping of footsteps preceded Tony, who had all but coated himself in grease.

"I know," he said, catching Bruce's eyes. "I'm fucking gorgeous. Now what's for lunch? Surely you've made something for lunch?"

"I suppose I can make us something. But I just wanted to tell you that your phone has been going off for about an hour. Didn't JARVIS tell you?"

Shaking his head wildly, Tony scrabbled towards the living room and back into the kitchen, phone in hand.

"It's Steve!"

He blinked, genuinely taken off guard, but quickly covering it up.

"Well, of course he would text me. I'm really good at what I do."

"Or maybe because I left your number under your plate at the diner. Now what exactly happened in the kitchen? If you two had sex…well, I must tell you, Tony, how vulgar that is."

Rolling his eyes, Tony poured himself a drink.

"We did not have sex. I kissed him. The end."

"You mean, you ravaged his mouth and he liked it?"

His friend smiled that genuine smile, and Bruce felt confused. He had thought it was rare, but here he had seen it two times in a week.

"Apparently he liked it. Thanks for leaving him my number."

The last part he added almost bashfully retreating back into the darkness where he could be doing anything from building a rocket to researching the cure for cancer. His voice echoed up from the room, and Bruce had to chuckle at it; it was just so _Tony._

"And bring me some lunch!"

Down at his workshop, sitting at his table, Tony finally took a deep breath and checked his phone.

Three text messages from Pepper, his friend who ran the school's newspaper, one that Bruce must have sent before he realized Tony's phone was upstairs, and another from some girl named Dana who wanted to hook up. Usually, this text would have caught his attention the most, and he would have scarcely saved time to shower before rushing to meet her. He lived up to his playboy mannerisms, after all, but he deleted her text without a second thought, and opened the last one, from Steve.

_Care to explain, Mr. Stark?_

Hardly aware of his foolish grin, Tony fired off a reply, the words rushing out without much thought.

_I can explain an unlimited amount of things, from how to build a car to how to make pasta. The latter, however, I am not as skilled at. Care to elaborate, Cap?_

Steve took a good nine minutes to reply; Tony had already returned to tweaking his car when his phone buzzed.

_Cap?_

The message seemed awfully short, but all the same, his smile widened. He shamelessly replied,

_Stalked your Facebook. Saw you were captain of the football team. Now what do I need to explain?_

The next message took a good twenty minutes coming, and in his mind, Tony could see Steve sitting on the couch maybe, which would be worn and homely, maybe with a bit of stuffing sticking out. Maybe he would be in his old football sweatpants or something, shirtless, and staring at his phone, trying to think of a reply. The image provoked a tug in his gut, and he became afraid of what Steve would say, how he would explain himself. He had never really done such a thing before, because no one ever questioned him.

He just carried out whatever actions he fancied, and then people got over it. Like him kissing Steve. He had not entirely expected anything to come out of it, because he couldn't be gay, despite what happened with Bruce, and he doubted Steve was either. But then again, there was little other reason for the feelings he had, and how could he know that Steve didn't feel the same?

His phone buzzed, sounding a lot louder than normal. He reluctantly opened the message, already forming the answer in his head.

_You can't just parade into a diner, make out with me, and then leave. I barely know you, and frankly I'm confused._

His eyes took in the last part, and he mentally rearranged his response before slamming his phone down with a sigh.

"JARVIS, do you think I could be gay?"

"I wasn't going to say anything."

The response, instead of angering him, made him laugh. Hell, who knew. Maybe, if he got Steve to kiss him, he would know for sure. He replied,

_You interest me. Let me take you out._

He sat the phone down like it was on fire, watching it intently. The answer was long coming, to his discontent, and by the time it arrived, he almost felt as if he had made a serious mistake. More than that, he wondered what the hell was wrong with him, asking a guy out. His reputation in school might not matter entirely, but when his father found out, it would be a nightmare.

The reply came thirty minutes later.

_Okay._

Well, maybe Tony could handle a nightmare.

* * *

"Don't you look sharp," Bruce remarked the day of the date, December 4, a day which they both had been awaiting. Bruce had been impatient because a lovesick Tony was an insufferable Tony, and he couldn't wait to watch his shows in peace.

"Don't you ever go home?" his friend retorted, but he moved to straighten his black jacket and then drew a hand through his hair in a pleased way.

"You know I don't, and you did tell Steve that you two were going to an insanely expensive restaurant, right? And that he needs to dress up?"

"I'm sure he knows. Have a nice night, ole friend. Don't tell me what happens on _White Collar_; I'm still trying to catch up."

Bruce raised his glass in cheers.

Tony's driver already picked up Steve, as he requested, and came back for Tony, who thought that seemed like a bit too much trouble, but whatever. When he slid in the backseat next to Steve, he saw that the man was slightly pink around the ears, eyes locked on his knees.

"I don't have a really great home," he mumbled without being provoked, like he wanted Tony to know, but he didn't want him to ask.

The statement drew an awkward silence over them, for rarely did Tony have to comfort or reassure anyone, but in his best manly manner, he let out a gusty sigh and grabbed Steve's hand.

"I'm sure it isn't that bad."

Steve, who had his eyes locked on their intertwined hands curiously, replied, "It is. Especially compared to yours." They had not yet moved from the driveway, and Steve's eyes flickered over his considerably large estate.

"I would like to see your house," Tony insisted. "Maybe sometime soon?"

After a moment's pause, Steve shrugged, but the tension drained from his face, and he grasped Tony's hand back. Tony found that he liked that quite a bit. He had never been the one having to comfort other's, but even now, he felt very relaxed with Steve's large hand wrapped around his own. They sat in silence until they arrived at the restaurant, which was extremely crowded, but it didn't much matter as Tony had reserved tables.

After their dinner was ordered, Steve peered at Tony for a bit before asking, "Are we seriously on a date?"

Tony nodded, and Steve smiled. He had been reluctant in his text messages, and even now he appeared to be a little at war with himself. But the simple fact of the matter was that he agreed, and he was here sitting across the table from Tony.

"I thought so. I don't really do this you, know."

Relieved, Tony replied, "Me either. But I guess you're different."

Steve tipped his head to one side, but did not inquire his meaning, instead saying, "I had a boyfriend once. My school was pretty open about all kinds of people. But we didn't work out."

He pressed his lips together, but kept his gaze steady on Tony.

"And why not?"

"Bucky just…" Steve paused, pain clouding his eyes. "He just felt guilty all the time. He thought that there might be a girl for me and he was taking away my chances of meeting her. We had a pretty big fight. He would be spitting mad to see that I transferred schools just to meet another guy."

'Spitting mad?' Tony thought, amused. 'Never heard that before.'

Aloud, he said, "I'm glad you did change schools. Glad I met you. I don't think I've ever taken a girl on an actual date before. At least, not one where I was focused entirely on her. All the restaurants we went to ended up having very fine women."

Smiling shyly, Steve asked, "Do you see any fine women here?"

Playing along, Tony scanned the area casually, not really taking in any of the people's faces.

"Oh yes. I would guess that girl over there is a triple D! And she's blond; just my type."

Steve laughed, and the sound was so appealing that Tony laughed too, because he didn't really notice any of the girls right then. He was simply overwhelmed with a curiosity to know more about Steve.

"Tell me everything," he insisted, seconds after their laughing fit had subsided into bright smiles. "Everything about you. I would tell you all about me, but that could take all night. You see,"

He looked around cautiously, and stretched over the table to whisper into Steve's ear.

"I'm a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."

"Playboy, huh?" Steve asked, smirking. "I noticed. I bet you can't stop flirting to save your life."

"I couldn't." Tony grimaced. "But I'm going to run out of my charming lines eventually, so hang in there."

The words left an unspoken message, like Steve would be permanent fixation in Tony's life, and Steve found himself grinning, enticed by the idea.

* * *

"Tony. Tony, wake up."

He cracked his eyes open, inhaling the musty scents of Steve's room, a guy's room. He had never been so content.

"Are we opening presents?" he mumbled into the covers.

"Yes, but first we are going to your house, so poor Bruce doesn't have to be alone on Christmas Eve," Steve said smoothly, snatching Tony's hoodie (the only one he owned, which announced him as Student Council President) and throwing it on.

"That's mine," Tony remarked, not entirely caring, but eager to provoke that smile he loved so much.

He was graced with it promptly, as Steve pulled one of his own hoodies out of his shabby dresser drawers.

"I'll trade you my varsity football hoodie. You'll love the back."

He spun it around in his hands, revealing the number 43 on the back and the words 'Rogers' in an arc above and 'captain', underneath.

"Perfect," Tony said, pulling it on and discovering that it held the same musky scent that Steve's bed had. He sounded like a psycho creeper, but damn, the boy smelled good. He didn't reek of artificial flowers and sunshine and all that other shit perfume girls wore.

In the short twenty days since their first date, they had become enthralled by each other, shamelessly, as Bruce would say it. They stayed over at one another's houses and spent all their time together, save for the moment when they went to get each other's presents for Christmas.

"You guys somehow advanced from strangers to married couple," Bruce remarked. "In twenty days. Did I miss something here?"

"I would hope not," Tony said. "I think it's perfectly normal for a couple to spend lots of time together."

Bruce hummed a vague reply, watching his friend from the corners of his eyes, but didn't protest. The asshole was happy, and for some reason Steve enjoyed being with him.

Tony, as it was, enjoyed Steve's house that he shared with his aunt and uncle; it had a cozy, warm feeling. Not spacious, but the majority of the house held a part of Steve, in the photographs and the way the cushions on the couch set, and those stupid coasters, of course.

"My aunt would kill me if we got rings on her furniture," he explained the first time Tony had stayed over.

Dressed in Steve's hoodie (which was large on him) and his football sweatpants (he had almost died laughing the first time he saw Steve wearing them), Tony and Steve headed to Tony's house, with Steve fiddling with the radio.

"Don't leave it on Elvis," Tony groaned, but made no move to change it.

"He is a legend," Steve insisted, so they listened to 'Kentucky Rain' for the duration of the short drive.

Tony's father was off for a business meeting, but Tony didn't really mind, because Christmas was never a big thing for them. It had always been he and Bruce huddled around the Christmas tree that Bruce had picked out.

"I'm picking it out, because if I don't, you're going to try to weld one that can fly or some shit like that," a twelve year old Bruce had insisted.

Now, Steve huddled with them, laughing and drinking hot chocolate. Steve and Bruce insisted on waiting to open presents, but Tony might as well have been a four year old, and they dragged them out at ten o' clock.

"Hang on, let me get your gift," Tony said to Steve, running down to his workshop.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he built you a pedestal," Bruce whispered, and they cracked up. Steve knew that it would be no surprise, so he didn't even try to defend Tony and his ways.

When he got back, they began opening presents. As Tony explained to Steve, they would open gifts on Christmas Eve and spend Christmas day watching movies and drinking hot chocolate. For Steve, this meant he could go home and spend time with his aunt and uncle before returning to Tony.

Bruce had given Tony a giant book on scientific developments throughout the years and how they've benefited society, and he had given Steve a leather jacket lined with wool.

"Wow!" Steve's eyes lit up when he saw it. "Thank you so much!"

His gift of classic novels to the man did not seem like very much right then, but Bruce did appear pleased by them.

Tony had given him new shoes, apparently they were insanely expensive, because Bruce had been speechless at the sight.

"I was sick of your hobo boots," Tony said in an offhanded way.

Tony opened his gifts from Steve. The first was a thick scarf ("My aunt taught me how to knit, alright? Just enjoy it!"). Tony did enjoy it, however, and wrapped it around his neck in a suave manner before opening the second gift, which turned out to be a ring.

Confused, Tony held it up to the light so that he could read the letters, and he found himself pleasantly surprised.

"It's my class ring," Steve explained to a puzzled Bruce. "I had to work my ass off to save up for it."

Tony drew it out of the tiny box, finding it on a chain.

"I didn't think it would fit on your fingers," Steve said, turning a little pink. "I mean, you can try it on your fingers, maybe. I'm sorry if-"

He broke off as Tony beamed, clasping it around his neck and smiling as he discovered that it rested right beside his heart.

"I love it. Now you have two gifts, but you can't exactly open either of them."

As if on a cue, Bruce leapt up and disappeared into another room.

"Here, take this."

Tony offered him a tiny box, wrapped with a red bow.

"I'll show you how to use it," he added, watching tug off the bow and remove the top.

Inside, sitting atop the cotton, was a key, and Steve's stomach clenched in shock.

"You did not get me a car. Tell me you didn't get me car."

"I didn't get you a car," Tony repeated earnestly, causing Steve to relax for just a split second, until he added, "It's a Ducati."

Steve gasped, because that was probably the last thing he would ever ask for, but something he would definitely be happy to have. Rarely had he ever gotten the things that he would be happy to have.

"One more thing," Tony said, his eyes crinkling with his smile.

Bruce emerged from the hall, carrying a German Shepard puppy with a bow around its neck.

Steve mouth dropped open a little with delight as he stretched his arms out to take the tiny creature.

"I love her," he announced; Tony and Bruce exchanged satisfied looks.

"Obviously. You seem more excited about a dog than you are a freakin' Ducati!" Tony accused playfully.

Steve leaned forward, kissing him, but only briefly as to not discomfort Bruce. The puppy was squashed between their chests for a moment, but she decided it might be better to try and join in. She began licking their faces excitedly.

"I think I do love her more," Steve replied deviously, for he knew Tony would be offended over that.

"And you suck at romancing a simple kid from Brooklyn," he added, but he clutched the puppy and the key happily.

Tony threw his arm around Steve's shoulder, turning the TV on so that Bruce would have something to watch instead of the pair of them being sappy. When it came to Steve, he couldn't really help it, though.

"Maybe you just suck at being romanced. Just let me spoil you. You see…"

He broke off, yawning, and let his head fall onto Steve's wide shoulder before continuing.

"I've never had the privilege to do such a thing before."


End file.
